


Ad Meliora

by IndyDeLarge



Category: King of Fighters
Genre: Character Study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:14:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23851390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndyDeLarge/pseuds/IndyDeLarge
Summary: About the day Iori Yagami met Leona Heidern.
Relationships: Leona & Yagami Iori
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	Ad Meliora

**Author's Note:**

> Set in KOF 96', before Leona regained the memories of her past.

* * *

Palpitations, sweaty palms, shaky hands, twitching eyebrows and a speck of what could only be worried anticipation were clawing at his self-preservation instinct. 

His eye balls moved around the confined space of the dressing room only finding a colorless TV screen, peeling black walls, a dirty mirror and the reflection of his new teammates staring back at him. Amused Cheshire's cat grins on their faces.

Whatever this feeling was, it was hitting them too.

It wasn't particularly alien. The energy flowing through his body was too familiar but it came mixed with something else. Like a song you hate played in the wrong key, somehow becoming more awful.

This unknown invasion made the hairs of the back of his neck stood up.

Iori didn't like unknown, because unknown was a friend of fear. A melody that had died down with his father years ago, a memory thrown to the darkest pit of his unconscious, an agonizing monster crawling his way out to show his teeth.

He dwelled on his body reaction for a second trying to recognize the force stirring up his insides and, as a mother hugging her crying child, Orochi's thread between them (that these women talked so much about and Iori regarded as a chain) tangled around his soul like a boa constrictor. 

_Something. No, someone. Close._

It was this shade of his blood the one that he wanted to blur, mainly because it made him think like an animal. That little voice disguised as instinct lowering him to the level of a hungry hyena salivating for remains or a snake crawling through the weeds. 

It didn't help at all that he felt their teammates existence at his core, almost as if their heavy blood was rushing through his body and his through theirs. The 'brand of the clan' he supposed, but there was something else now...

Finally, he pinpointed it.

It wasn't fear what showed up, but certainty. And with certainty relief and curiosity.

"I thought I was the only Yagami left" he deadpanned as he lit a cigarette with his finger, spreading on his chair a bit calmer.

"You are honey" cooed the blonde woman he knew as Mature "This one is not a Yagami".

Iori dig his empty eyes on hers as Vice's low voice reverberated in the room "Can't say I'm not excited".

A 'tsk' escaped his mouth, so there were others like him after all.

He saw Kusanagi's shit eating grin on the TV and remembered that the familiar antagonizing face was the only concern that should be bothering him.

_Someone else. Close. Close. Close._

A knock on the door snapped him out of his reverie and the killing machines behind him stood up cracking their bones and stretching their limbs.

"It's show time" said one of the women. He wasn't sure which one, he didn't care.

As they walked through the dark stadium hallways after the Satella employee a thousand ants crawled under Iori's skin, biting every nerve they could find. 

Whoever was the poor bastard that shared Iori's fate he (or she) was close. And, as much as he tried to ignore his blood, the tug at the corner of his heart became more clear and violent with every step he gave dodging snotty fans, plastic reporters and coffee-fueled cameramen. 

"I want this fight over soon so I can search for our new friend" whispered Mature in his ear, a little bit closer than Iori needed.

He wanted that too, for the fight to be quick that is. Especially this one, because he couldn't stand army types. 

Ikari Team, such a stupid mindless action movie name. He'd never get used to it. 

To his chagrin the gorilla soldiers he had seen the past tournament made their way towards the stage. Rambo, check. The one with the sun glasses (even though it was as a cloudy as a November day in America gets), check. And the oh-so-mighty Commander…didn't show up.

_Closer. Closer. Closer._

Instead, the mercenaries moved to the side revealing a young face with long blue hair on a pony tail. A small but toned body standing between the two muscle mountains. 

Iori frowned as she hoarded his attention and the rubber band stretching inside him was let loose. 

_Found...her._

There it was, the stranger miserable enough to share his curse. Like a cracking egg his curiosity shattered replaced with the feeling of gears working through new applied oil, and some casual questions.

What sort of mercenary army would accept a ticking time bomb like an…Orochi blood? Is that what he should call it now? Whatever, a potential monster. 

Unless the girl he saw in front of him was sharp enough to hide it which, judging by her age, was expecting too much. It took Iori years that felt like millennia to keep the voice of chaos in his brain quiet, and even so it would come back now and then to scream like a banshee.

So no, despite the ironed uniform, the stiff walk and the pressed mouth this girl wasn't in control. Jesus, maybe that's why they wanted her, a secret weapon to unleash when they were running out of men in the battlefield, used as nothing more than a hunting dog. 

She deserved a clap, it certainly was a way more creative idea than what Iori had chosen to do by isolating himself from meaningful human interaction. At least she was getting paid for being a walking tragedy.

He stared at her and she stared back somber. Dead eyes. 

Wow, how surprising, he hissed in his head.

He suspected for a long time he had them too, it would explain the sudden avoidance of strangers when they made visual contact at the supermarket, at a club, even the fucking doctor.

Well, now he had a mirror that proved him right and he didn't want to look away, there was nothing else there for him after all. Kyo was probably snoring in his hotel room, not even bothered to watch his fight on TV.

The guy with the bandana lowered himself to whisper in the girl's ear and despite the fact Iori wasn't particularly watching _him_ he felt the penetrating gaze of what could only be a man full of testosterone rather than reason. 

Her mouth twitched upwards as she finally looked away from Yagami to stare at her teammate. Amusement? Respect? Love? A conflicting set of emotions lit themselves up on those blue eyes that seconds before refused to give a sign of life.

Cordiality? Obedience? No, this was...friendship. After years of analysing humans through his soundproof glass house he learned to recognize it. Friendship was without a doubt something people like them had to be conscious enough to avoid. 

"Oh no" laughed the redhead woman with something that could only be disbelief.

Lethargic, Iori turned towards her as the cameras did the last check up and the impatient cheering of the public gained enthusiasm. 

Mature and Vice interchanged glances, as cats ready to toy with their food. Finally the blonde woman spoke as her eyes dig themselves on the blue haired soldier.

"She doesn't know" 

Iori looked back at the girl who was already watching _them_ , slightly frowning, slightly…confused, and the realization fell on him like rain.

There was no secret connection, no underlying misery acknowledged, no instinct of defiance at a new-found peer.

She was as oblivious to the nature of her blood as he was to his humanity.

"I hope she's hard to break" jingled Vice "Resistance always gets me excited"

The girl remained stoic as a scared intern motioned both of them forward. They stepped into the arena in unison.

One more time their gazes met and something in Iori squirmed, in that human part he'd been trying to kill since he was a little boy sleeping with a flashlight, ready to help his father when he started to throw up blood on the bathroom toilet.

Just then he felt it (and it only lasted a day), the ability to put himself on someone's else's shoes. Empathy, sadness, anger. They engulfed him like waves of oil.

He would later laugh at how he couldn't replicate the hopelessness the day he found out she finally lost control. Maybe it hadn't been empathy after all. Maybe he just saw for a second his innocent child eyes reflected on hers, initiating a chain reaction that relived his trauma through someone else.

But the moment she stared back with her fists raised and her chin up, ready for the referee to give the signal, Iori felt pity.

For the life she seemed to have built for herself with those pale calloused hands and for the day she'd end up tearing it apart, thirsty for blood. At least she wouldn't remember it, he never did. 

It was the only blessing they could count. 

The flick of a switch and you disappear completely to deal with the mess later, Iori prefered that rather than the memories. He hoped she would also, it wasn't like she could choose anyway.

The redhead accommodated himself in his fighting stance, feeling it as natural as breathing, and imagined the girl before him with blood crimson hair. 

It was new, not only the vision, but the fear he had wanted to avoid. The fear of an inevitable tragedy. 

_Red won't suit you._

He couldn't find the courage to say it out loud.

**Author's Note:**

> Something that came to mind yesterday, unpolished but I thought it was worth posting.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
